He tries to convince himself he made the right decision.

Watching Pam walk back to the bus alone, though, feeling her physically slip away from him, had been enough to make him second guess himself almost instantly. 

He’d chosen loyalty to Karen. She’s the responsible choice, the safe one. And regardless of the inner conflict he’s been trying to suppress all year long, he knows he can be happy with her. He and Pam have a history, sure... but now, so do he and Karen.

Pam was right when she said that he isn’t the same person he used to be. He has evolved. And he’s so close to being able to move past her, past the old Jim, past all of this. He can actually see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

She’d asked him to turn around, but does he even want to anymore?

There’s a large part of him that truly believes he’d be better off moving on, starting over for real. A new job, a new city, a fresh start for him and Karen. But there’s something still clinging to his heart, that tiny bit of unexpected information he didn’t have until that night at the beach: 

It wasn’t unrequited, Jim.

Pam had feelings for him all along. Well, for the old Jim, at least. Despite her inability to act, it was the truth, and she’d finally found a way to communicate it to him. And now this knowledge sits there, immovable. It reminds him of those times something gets stuck in his shoe and he can’t get it out. 

He smiles, trying to remember what exactly it was he and Pam had called it… that thing stuck in his shoe. Whatever it is, it won’t go away. He can feel it with every step he takes. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with that now.

It’s the morning of his interview, and he sits alone in the lobby of Corporate after Karen leaves to go have lunch with her friends. She’s hardly left his side since the beach, having needed constant support and reassurance, and it occurs to him how incredibly ironic it is that right now, when he could use some support himself, is the moment she’s chosen to leave him alone with his thoughts.

So he thinks. He looks around Dunder Mifflin Corporate, and he thinks.

This place is slick and modern, and it reminds him a lot of Stamford. It reminds him of the last time he stood on the precipice of a monumental life change.

He tries to imagine what a life in New York would be like. Maybe it could be exciting. Maybe he and Karen could make a real go of it. Last night, they’d walked around downtown Manhattan with the buzz of traffic and the smell of something new and unfamiliar all around him. She held his hand tightly — very tightly — and he tried not to read too much into it. 

The plan had been to have a romantic evening in the city, just the two of them. But he couldn’t pretend there wasn’t a third tagging along. A third who had been tagging along all week, even if only just a shadow.

We don’t have a future in Scranton, Karen had said. There’s one too many people there. 

She wasn’t wrong. The whole point of this endeavor is to leave Pam behind. He only fears that once they do, here in New York surrounded by thousands, he’ll still always feel one person short. 

His interview should go well, at least. He will sit across from David Wallace and say all the right things, do all the right things. He’s smart, and he’s good at his job. Getting a promotion like this has always been within his grasp. It feels almost foreign to finally be preparing to make the transition official.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Grace.”

Jim’s neck snaps up as if from muscle memory at the receptionist as she answers the phone. He can’t help but smile to himself; it’s humorous at this point the way the universe continues to insist on reminding him that Pam still exists.

That thing stuck in his shoe still exists.

Eventually, the receptionist calls his name and leads him into David Wallace’s office.

“Hey, Jim!” David says, extending his hand with a huge smile. “Good to see you again.”

He shakes the CFO’s hand and can’t help but think of Pam’s prediction. I know you’re going to get that job.

“Good to see you too,” Jim says. He looks around David’s office. “Wow, this is incredible,” he says as he looks out the window at the skyline. A memory stirs. You can’t beat that view.

“Michael mentioned you and Karen came out last night, did you guys have a good time in the city?” David asks.

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, it was fun. We saw Spamalot. Kind of.”

“Good man,” David chuckles. “My wife dragged me to see that a few weeks ago, even though I had floor seats for the Knicks game. The things we do for love, eh?”

Love. Jim laughs uncomfortably. 

“Well, I’m a Sixers fan anyway,” Jim deflects. “So that wasn’t really an issue.”

“I don't know how I feel about hiring a Sixers fan.” 

Jim points towards the door, falling into a comfortable rhythm with David. Selling himself has never been difficult. “I should leave.” 

David grins, the small talk over, and gestures for Jim to sit down, which he does. 

“Let me ask you a question, Jim. You're clearly a very bright guy. Always hit your numbers, personable, you make a great impression on everyone you meet–”

Jim interrupts him. “I'm sorry, wait, so is the question ‘How'd I get to be so awesome?’ Because I don't have an answer for you.”

They laugh a little awkwardly, but the interruption serves its purpose. Because Jim knows exactly what David’s question was going to be: Why the hell have you been a paper salesman in Scranton for so long? 

He does have an answer for that one. And he isn’t sure how he feels about it.

David asks for his quarterly sales reports, which Jim hands over, but as he does so a note falls out – plunk – right into his lap. He picks it up to look at it.

And just like that, everything changes.

Jim

Don't forget us 

when you're 

famous! 

Pam

It’s a memo, like the kind she leaves on his desk to call back clients all the time, but this time, it’s personal. And attached to the note is a yogurt lid – a gold medal – from their office Olympics. 

His mind goes fuzzy, his mouth turns dry. This is no coded overture. It’s a flashing marquee, it’s a jet puffing out skywriting across the sky. And like a forgotten refrain from a favorite old song, the history of the medal in his hand materializes.

***

The day is pretty normal until it isn’t. That’s the way the days at Dunder Mifflin usually go. But today, there’s something special in the air. 

He and Pam have decided to throw an impromptu office Olympics, something fun to get everyone involved, break up the monotony of the day. He can always convince Michael it’s a team-building exercise if he happens to find out about it.

The athletes are taking a little work break, but Jim is too excited to work. 

“Hey Pam,” he calls from the conference room, beckoning her over.  She picks up the box of closing ceremonies paraphernalia she’s spent the last couple hours putting together and bounces over, mirroring his excitement with a giddy smile. The Olympics have been fun, but he won’t lie… it’s mostly because of that smile.

“Okay, so I was thinking we can hang these up with a little pulley system, and I’ll pull one end to make the little doves fly up.” She holds up one of the paper doves with a little flourish. Jim takes it with a smile.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do this,” he says, impressed.

“Well, I didn’t. Oscar showed me how.”

“Oscar, huh? Who knew.”

“Anyway, maybe we should set it up now, so we can do closing ceremonies before Michael gets back.”

He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re amazing, Beesly.”

“Thanks, I try.” She flips her hair in a cute little way and starts to walk out of the room when he grabs her wrist gently, pulling her back.

“Wait a sec. You don’t have a gold medal yet. This is clearly some sort of horrendous oversight.”

She doesn’t pull away from his touch right away, but he lets go after a second. “Well, I haven’t won anything yet,” she points out. “So the math adds up, really.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says. “This entire thing was your idea.”

“It was yours, actually.”

“Okay, fine, but you were my inspiration. And you deserve to have a medal.”

“It’s really okay. I’m more of a spectator. Besides, I’m happy with silver.” She holds up her lone silver medal proudly, which she’d won after beating Toby in the staring competition. Jim had come out on top for the gold, which didn’t surprise him, as staring deeply into Pam’s eyes with permission was something he would have done as long as humanly possible.

“No one is actually happy with silver, Pam. Come on.”

She smirks. “Well, I can’t earn a medal if there’s no competition.”

“Yes, you can. It’s our office Olympics. We get to make the rules.” 

He turns back to the conference table where the remaining unclaimed medals are laid out, picks up a gold one, and holds it up. She rolls her eyes but he can’t ignore her smile as he steps forward, lifting the paper clip chain up and around her neck. 

He does it more slowly than he’d planned, placing it gently over her shoulders, and it settles just on top of the silver one. One of the clips catches on her hair and like a reflex he reaches out to untangle it, then moves her hair out of the way. 

“Gold medal for Pam Beesly. Best All-Around.”

“All-Around what?” she laughs.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You win.”

They’re standing very, very close, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I didn’t even have to try very hard. Just threw some paper clips into a mug.”

Jim shrugs. “The true champions are the ones who make it look easy.”

She cranes her neck to look up at him, and even though he knows the right thing to do is to back off, he’s frozen in place. Her eyes are captivating and she smells so good. He wants to make her his so badly it hurts.

After what feels like an eternity, she looks down at her medal, tilting it a bit. He’s probably imagining the reflection in her eyes, but he still sees it: gold. Tiny flecks of gold.

She looks back up at him. “Now that I have one, I have to admit you’re right.” 

He grins back, confused. “About what?”

“No one’s actually happy with silver.”

***

Jim holds the medal, staring at it. David is chattering about something, some HR rep, he isn’t sure. 

“How do you think you’d function here in New York?” David asks.

“What's that?” There’s a sort of ringing in Jim’s ears, and all of his carefully prepared responses are gone. He can’t locate one single solitary thing to say. “Oh, uh, great. You know? I just um, I really appreciate the buildings, and uh, the people, and um, there's just a… energy... New York has, uh…”

He’s babbling now, probably just some bullshit Karen had spouted last night about the city. David is looking at him with a perplexed expression. Get it together, Halpert. He digs deep and produces a joke he’d planned to toss at the CFO.

“Not to mention, they have places that are open past eight. So that's a bonus.”

David laughs at his canned response. “You've been in the Scranton branch a long time. What have you liked most about that place?”

He can’t say Pam, even though it’s all he’s thinking.

Even though it’s all that’s left to say.

Pam.

“The friendships,” he says honestly.

David Wallace looks at him with that confused look back on his face, “friendships” clearly not being the answer he’d wanted. 

“Okay,” he says indulgently. “Well, we want the person who takes this position to be here for the long haul. So... long haul. Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Ten years.

Where does he see himself in ten years?

He’s been so focused on trying to prove to himself he’s over Pam, on getting through each day with Karen, that he hasn’t adequately considered what his future would look like with her. And if he accepts this position, if he moves to New York with Karen for the foreseeable future, what does that mean? What will his life be like? Who will he become?

Don’t forget us when you’re famous.

Will he ever forget about Pam? The way it felt to see her every morning as he walked into the office, the way his heart would pound whenever she smiled? The way her laugh filled up every bit of empty space inside of him in a way that Karen’s just doesn’t? As hard as he tries, will he ever be able to just forget all of that? 

And will anything ever be as good again? 

Very suddenly, something hurts, striking him square in the solar plexus. He slips the note into his jacket pocket and brings his hand to his chest, for a moment genuinely worried he could be having a heart attack or panic attack, or that something might be seriously wrong with him. 

Ten years. 

Wallace looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, but no words will come out. Then the CFO leans forward, concerned, eyeing Jim as if he can tell he’s experiencing some kind of short-circuit. 

“Jim? You okay?” 

Okay. 

Is he okay?

“Um, I’m so sorry, but can I please take a minute?” Jim asks.

“Of course,” David says. He gestures to the door. “I’ll be here.”

Jim gets up and heads out of David’s office, to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The sounds of the office lobby become muted, and he steps up to the sink, bracing his arms against the counter, taking calming, steady breaths.

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

He looks in the mirror and he doesn’t even recognize himself. He’s wearing a suit that Karen picked out. His haircut, that she’d pushed him to get, looks like someone else’s. And there’s even something in his eyes that doesn’t feel right, like the light has gone out of them.

He splashes water onto his face. Is he doing the right thing? How can he possibly know for sure?

What have you liked most about that place?

The friendships, he’d said. 

Pam’s friendship, he’d meant.

He’s been trying for so long not to be the guy hopelessly in love with the receptionist that he’s forgotten what’s most important: how to be her friend. More to the point, he’s almost forgotten how to just be Jim. 

He looks down at the yogurt lid in his hand. It’s just a tiny circle of tinfoil but it means more to him than anything else that’s happened all year. 

He then looks back up at his reflection and finally it hits him: the thing he thought he’s been trying to accomplish all year is actually the very thing he’s been avoiding. He doesn’t want to evolve. He doesn’t want to move to New York and work in this building and live with Karen and be some other type of person he doesn’t recognize. He wants to be the person he was, the Jim he’d been before.

The Jim who Pam could love.

We don’t have a future in Scranton.

Karen’s right… they don’t have a future in Scranton. 

But he does.

David Wallace sits in his corporate seat, Karen is downtown having fancy drinks with her fancy friends. Pam is back in Scranton, answering the phone and being Pam, and here he sits, the only person desperately trying to be someone he isn’t. He’s been lying to himself for so long, swimming upstream against a powerful current. And if he stops trying so hard and just lets go, if he allows the current to carry him away, he knows exactly where it will lead: right back to her. 

He thinks of the Christmas card he’d written for Pam, the words he’d poured his heart and soul into. It still sits in his accordion file up in his closet, waiting for… something. There has to be a reason he’s continued to save it, there has to. He’s known for some time he will never actually give it to her. 

So… why? Why does he still have it? Why has he held on to it this entire time? Why can’t he let it go?

No matter what happens, I will love you forever.

Forever.

Ten years, and all he can see is Pam’s face. The Pam he’s known all along, but also this new, courageous, vibrant being he only met a few days ago; someone who has finally found herself throughout this awful mess, without Roy, without him, a whole person all on her own, standing upright on two scalded feet. Days later, he still feels an odd sense of misplaced pride on her behalf, even though he knows he probably has no business feeling it at all.

He tries to visualize Karen, to imagine the life she’d envisioned for them here, but he can’t. He only sees Pam. Pam’s smile, Pam’s laugh. Those kids again, with Pam’s eyes. 

Only Pam.

And now he knows the reason he kept that letter. 

It’s because he wanted to remember how it felt to be in love: deeply, madly, truly in love. Because someday – he told himself – he’d end up with someone else, someone who was not Pam, and he owed it to himself to remember the kind of love he deserved. 

But mostly he knows it’s because that letter is no less true today than it was the day he’d written it. And trying to make it untrue is – and has been – a fool’s errand. 

He doesn’t want to try anymore. He’s sick of trying. 

He looks in the mirror one final time, smiling at his reflection. And all of his prior rationalizations, all of his logic and fear and doubt completely disappear until only one thing remains.

Love.

Don’t forget us, she’d said.

Don’t forget me, she’d meant.

He can’t forget her. He will never forget her. And most importantly… he doesn’t want to.

Jim steps out into the hallway between the bathroom and David Wallace’s office, and can hear the voice of the receptionist in the lobby again.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Grace.”

Grace.

He’s been ignoring the signs from the universe long enough. This is the right decision. He is sure now, more than ever before. He wants to go home, where he knows Pam will be waiting. He wants to take this gold medal and put it back around her neck where it belongs.

He’s not prepared to settle for silver. 

Jim opens the door to David’s office and steps inside. 

“I’m really sorry, David,” he says, and the CFO’s eyes widen in surprise. “But… I can’t do this. I have to go.”

David watches him in shock as he picks up his bag from the floor and turns to leave.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I don’t belong here, in New York. I should be back in Scranton.”

“You don’t want the job?” 

Jim turns back, gives him a confident smile, and for the first time in this interview, says something genuine, something real. Something he should have said months ago.

“No, I don’t. I want something else.”